Shape of hope

This poem comes from looking at the cross which hangs in our church’s sanctuary, and imagining it silhouetted against a gloomy sky – a bold, stark shape which would conjure dread in ancient times. Looking up at that shape which has become so familiar, I was struck by the fact that the shape was not always known as a picture of hope. No, if anything it was the cross-hairs of justice, the place of distortion and terror. Justice and grace met there, because grace had no merit until that justice was wrought on our behalf.